In the Darkness
by milegre
Summary: The world of the Phantom meets the world of darkness. A supernatural fic, where Erik must struggle against his very identity to protect Christine and what is most precious about her: life.
1. Tales of the North

_**A/N - I considered not posting this, because it didn't seem fair to start something new when I have several stories yet to be completed. I couldn't resist, however. I'm sure you all understand. When the creative bug bites.. well...**_

**_At any rate, I'm not going to give a big synopsis on this. I realized that in fanfiction we know what's going to happen before it does, usually, because of the plot we explain in the beginning! Anything that happens in this story will have to be a surprise, so I hope you enjoy!_**

**_Please review. And be patient, this is very much an introductory chapter. More will follow, hopefully another today to look deeper at Erik._**_

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February 22, 1846

"Again, Christine.." the melodic voice demanded gently. The trembling child of a girl obeyed, pink lips parting to emit a lovely sound. Unseen by such innocent eyes, the beast behind the walls reveled in the melody produced. His lovely protege was progressing rather well, and each time she succeeded he felt as though something brilliant had emerged in his dark, dark world.

"Angel," came her sweet voice, beckoning from his reverie into the world of the living with her.

"Yes, child?" He replied, attempting to sound as paternal and comforting as he could manage. The poor girl was still frail, mourning the loss of her father. She was scarcely ten and had already been within his realm for nearly three years. The pain was still etched so freshly within her delicate heart, however, and he reminded himself to be very tender with her.

"Is my father in heaven?" Came the innocent query, her big doe eyes alight with both hope and trepidation – as though she feared the answer would not be the one she sought.

For a moment the man felt a sliver of guilt. Guilt for manipulating and fooling such an innocent in this way, for twisting her most precious hopes and beliefs to suit his whim and earn her trust. Guilt for being so damned dark, and guilt for basking so freely in her glorious light.

That moment passed quickly, however. He had learned many years ago to suppress such emotion, and today was no exception.

"Of course, Christine.." he answered smoothly. Before she had even a moment to reply, he began to sing. His soft voice weaved about her mind, entrancing her. The words were unimportant and scarcely recognized by either. The man could only stand, transfixed, as the worries of her world of light faded from her pretty features, replaced with the numb look of bliss he imparted to her. At least he could provide her with that, this escape from the pain.

The man felt compelled as he watched the child relax within the control of his voice, longing to protect her from all harm. To ease the burden upon her heart, to make her smile always. This man would never be a father, but as he observed this wisp of a girl with chocolate curls, he longed for that connection. For _family._ For love.

* * *

_June 7, 1852_

"Christine! Christine!" He could hear her precious name upon the lips of others, yet he could not find the soft voice that moved his heart. He moved quickly within his secret passages, ignoring the errant whispers of the ballet rats. He had no interest at all in their frivolties. He was searching for his pupil, his companion. _His_ Christine.

At last he came upon the apartment home of the ballet Mistress, and found inside a gathering of the irritating little rats, all clustered together in ribbons and curls. They were giggling and chatting behind their hands, faking self-restraint as they obviously waited for someone.

At last the door opened, and the face of his beloved came into view. Little Meg was clutching her arm, face abeam in a brilliant smile. She was obviously proud of herself for delivering Christine to the event, and all of the other girls screamed in unison. The shout was enough to make him cringe.

"**Christine**!"

The slender token of their affection went white, her face ashen and frightened for a moment. The man stifled a sigh and longed to reach out to her. To comfort her. Could those who called themselves her friend know so little about her? Did they not realize how easily frightened she was, or how much she detested being startled? Worse yet, did they not know that she despised her very own birthday? All it brought to his little angel was a reminder that her father was no longer with her. It was on this very day that he had left her, alone in the world.

Alone no more, the man mused, as he watched her recover as gracefully as she could and force a smile to her companions. She appreciated their gesture and would never reproach them for their thoughtlessness. Once she stepped into the room and began to murmur thanks, they all stood on slender legs and encompassed her with hugs and laughter. They each attempted to pull her in one direction or another, and finally amidst all the chaos someone had to step in.

"Enough!" Margeurite called over them, and they instantly stilled. Leaning heavily upon her cane, she strode forward into the midst of the room – the little ballerinas parting like the sea before her. She came to stand before Christine, and the dark observer held his breath.

The two stood before one another, eyes locked. A sad understanding passed between them. With a sorrowful expression, Margeurite apologized to Christine, and with a tilt of her head and a bit of a smile Christine forgave her.

"Happy birthday, Christine.." she finally stated, reaching to hug the child who had somehow grown into a woman. Christine had become like a daughter to Margeurite, as much as to the man within the walls watching the scene unfold. As Christine had developed into a young woman, leaving behind the awkwardness of childhood and embracing the fullness of her beauty as a lady, Margeurite could only watch with a bit of satisfaction and a hint of sadness. It was terrible that her father or mother could not be here to see what a lovely person she had become, but she felt pleased to have had a hand in the rearing that produced such a good person.

For the dark shadow that lurked, uninvited, the transition did not bring such simple emotions about. When Christine had arrived as a tiny girl he had imagined himself as her father. He had protected her from the pranks of the older girls, coddled and coached her, and been everything he could be in that role. He could not ascertain when the change had occurred, but at some point he found himself staring at his student with entirely different motivations. He would daydream about what her hair would feel like within his fingers or upon his cheek, or worse yet – what those sweet, moist, pink lips must taste like! He struggled with it for a considerable amount of time, attempting to purge himself of such lustful thoughts. He was a dark beast, and had no right to as much as desire an angel such as herself. Their encounters had been strained, several leaving Christine weeping and distraught. She worried over disappointing him, her angel. He attempted to comfort her, and when it only fed the needs within him he could do naught but turn away and escape her fierce beauty and appeal.

Today his precious turned sixteen, all but a woman now. Suitors had already begun to call upon her, and though she was always polite she declined each of them. He knew Margeurite worried that Christine was too quick in her rejections of them, She needed to find an affluent man who would care for her, make her his bride. The frail and ever-so-sweet Christine would only smile at the only mother she had ever _really_ known, and dismiss her worries with a gentle shrug. He secretly thrilled at her disinterest and hoped he would never have to share her affections with anyone. That would never do.

Amidst all of the noise within the small, overcrowded room, it was a soft sigh that brought the man out of his reverie. His angel was perched upon a footstool and was carefully opening packages wrapped in colorful tissue. Hair ribbons, a broach, and even a soft pair of gloves lay in the pile of opened gifts. Though he had been paying little attention, he was sure Christine exuded gratitude as she opened each and moved on to the next only when the girls insisted.

Now, however, she held a book within her hands. It was bound with leather and the title was embossed so neatly upon the cover. She ran her little fingers over it again and again, and he could see the crystalline tears that trembled upon her lashes.

"_Tales of the North"_ the book said, and though the onlookers did not understand it's significance Christine did, and so did her angel. She opened it finally, reading the inscription time and again.

"_Never stop dreaming, Christine. Never stop believing." _The ink was blood-red, and the print was a bit scrawling. Again those precious fingers traced each letter, leaving the man behind the gift breathless with the thought of what they would feel like upon his cold flesh. She looked up toward the ceiling, and smiled a special smile. It was his thank you, the man knew it, and in his heart he thrilled at the look upon her face. Above all of the other gifts, he had pleased her.

Margeurite, who had watched this exchanged with a worried expression, cleared her throat to break the tension. Immediately the girls, who had been silenced by Christine's display, began to chat and giggle again. The moment had passed. Margeurite stared rather intensely at Christine, and she just blushed and lowered her pretty head so as to avoid the Madame's gaze.

* * *

The party had concluded without any more dramatics, and the hours had passed painfully slow. The angel of music had busied himself with rather simple tasks, nothing heavenly or holy on his agenda until the appointed hour in which he would meet with Christine. He had sent above for provisions, worked a bit on his composition, and then taken a long, scalding bath. It did not matter that his body had been frigid for many, many years now – he still attempted in vain to find solace from the bitter chill. His alabaster flesh was a raging pink by the time he emerged, but he had long since accustomed himself to this familiar ache. It was better to be in pain than to not feel at all. He had dressed meticulously, a fact that he mocked himself over. The precious girl would never see him, so why did it matter how he appeared?

That question could not be answered, at least not logically, but it was his ritual. He would always prepare for her as though she were an Empress. Though she may never know or appreciate the gesture, he still believed she deserved no less.

The man arrived at the mirror just in time to see her burst into the room. Her cheeks were flushed and her breathing was a bit labored. She must have been alarmed at the thought of being late, and ran to her room from her dinner.

"Angel," she gasped softly – and all of the composure he had built around himself crumbled. This was no longer the little girl he had pretended was his own. There was no blood relation between them, and he desired her fiercely. It would be so easy to simply take her. He could do it simply enough. Chain her to him forever. But the precious light that lit her soul would flicker, and eventually die. All of his darkness would dispel the light within her and he could never live with such a heinous act. He had killed more people than he cared to recall, and it was an easy enough task. Routine, really. But this one simple female had brought the terrible beast to his knees. He responded the only way he knew how.

"Oh, Christine.."


	2. Most Precious

_**A/N - A short one, I know, but I wanted to get it out. I'm not sure if I'll get more done today, but please let me know what you think. )**

* * *

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December 05, 1852

The winds were blustering and fierce. They whipped at his cloak and hat as he strode easily through the darkened streets. The poor mortals who were out in the cold shivered and cursed at the weather, struggling against it to find safe haven – ducking into cafe's, Inn's, and even brothels to escape the chill. Erik trudged on as though oblivious to the assault. It would be Christmas soon, and his delicately laid plans would begin to take shape. He would eventually mold Christine's mind to accept that he could be in human flesh, and then draw her into his realm to celebrate the holiday she held so dear. The perfect gift was in order, and he had come above personally to check on it's status.

It was dark, of course. Erik would never venture above in the daylight hours, and risk his demise. No, he clung instead to the shadows which had been his sustenance for as many years as he could recall. Long before he had taken this form.

The door to the shop he entered held an extremely annoying bell near it's top that jangled loudly when Erik entered. He cast a scowl upwards at it, and then pushed further in. He was so shrouded within his cloak that the poor man behind the counter scarcely seen him, starting greatly when Erik spoke.

"Monsieur..." he said quietly, to garner the attention he required. The older, plump man adjusted his round glasses upon his nose and stood from his stool rather nervously.

"Oh! Monsieur, I did not expect you until much later." He stammered quickly, sweat already forming on his brow. The dark man who had frequented his shop for the past several months never ceased to inspire pure terror in him.

"Yes, yes.." Erik replied absently, feeling quite patient tonight. "Do you have it?"

"Of course! It is not yet set, Monsieur – another day or so perhaps? I will fetch it for you.." he said, as he disappeared within a curtain. Erik drummed his fingers atop the counter as he waited. The jewelry store had several quite remarkable pieces, and while Erik had considered purchasing one of them on his first visit he knew that none presented would be appropriate. Christine was a jewel, unique in the landscape of his world. Only something created to be as rare and magnificent as she was would do. He had spent weeks designing the perfect gift, and had delivered his plans to the pudgy man who now emerged from the back room.

His hands were shaking as he arranged the gift before Erik for his inspection. He seemed to hold his breath as he waited for a response.

Erik simply stared at it for several long moments, a slight nod the only gesture he would give the jeweler.

"I will return in three days to fetch it. It will be complete by then." He said lowly, as he turned from the counter.

"Of course!" The man again stammered, "I will see to it personally, Monsieur!"

Erik chuckled lightly. "Of course you will."

With that he vacated the small shop, becoming lost again in the welcoming darkness.

He could tell he was being followed long before his pursuer decided to present himself. Erik had purposely avoided his usual path, leading the follower away from his lair rather than to it. He hesitated on the outskirts of the large and sprawling cemetery, turning to speak into the darkness.

"Make yourself known," he hissed, the words barely audible. Within a moment a slender, disheveled looking man stepped forward.

"Erik," he stated in a voice that dripped with disdain.

Erik was not taken aback, he simply spread his arms wide as if to say "Here I am."

The man smirked, arrogance written all over his countenance.

"The Prince wishes to see you."

The amusement upon Erik's face diminished. While there were many other people out there like him, he had long ago decided to shun the little secret society and live alone. He naturally obeyed most of the laws they had put forth, but not because one person or sect told him to. His own conscience created the edict by which he lived, it just happened to mostly coincide with their own.

The primary difference was the need to be a part of their society, and to pay homage to the most powerful one amongst them. The Prince.

Erik did not even try to hide his desire to roll his eyes and snort. The man seemed taken aback at this blatant disrespect.

"You will mock him?" He asked incredulously. Erik smirked in reply.

"Tell your beloved prince that I have no desire to play your little games," he stated, and then moved to walk around the man.

The man spoke within Erik's mind then, no words issued though the meaning was clear.

"_Tread carefully, or that which is most precious to you could be compromised.."_

Erik spun around quickly, worry etched within his features. He had met many of his own kind, and knew that there were those who could easily pick the minds of others but he had always thought himself immune to such a thing. Was it a lucky stab in the dark that this foolish young sentry had made? Was Erik assuming he knew too much, when his words were really a vague threat? He could not decide, but all that he could think of on the winding track back home was Christine.

* * *

"The order was issued," the same man stated lightly. The room was abuzz with conversation and he did not wish to draw undue attention to himself. The more distinguished gentleman across from him simply inclined his head, beckoning him to go on.

"He scoffed and left," he continued.

Alexander then replied audibly. "Did you convince him?"

A subtle shrug of shoulders was the only reply he received. After a moment of silence, once it was obvious that he was not content with just that, the man continued.

"I threatened that which is most precious to him. We may have to carry out that threat in order to open his eyes."

"Ah, yes.." Alexander released a sigh, leaning back in his chair once more. "The girl."

* * *

Erik was furious. How could he have been so careless? His rage was not stamped out in the cold streets as he would have desired, only fueled as he considered the threat again and again.

_It must be coincidence, _he reasoned with himself. _Why would they care enough to watch me so closely? Have I been so careless?_

Erik cursed himself then. He had known that his dark world would eventually spoil the warmth and love that was Christine, but he had somehow created a world within his own mind in which they both could live. Despite the gulf which separated them, they could coincide in this dream world. Since the night of her birthday he had been weaving a delicate plan to bring her into his arms, relinquishing the noble notion of never as much as touching the frail thing. He could live without her no longer, and all had been going according to plan until this.

Did they really know about her? Did they really intend to destroy an innocent simply because of his apparent affection for her? Could he protect her?

Erik growled as he navigated his tunnels. Of course he could protect her, and he would!


	3. The New Prince

**Thank you for the reviews.** **Your input is always welcomed. This will be an "Erik is a vampire" fic, but I hope you will be patient and read despite that. The world of my vampires is not your typical "dracula" type vampire. He is not going to turn into a bat, I promise, and he doesn't detest garlic. Before I found Phantom I loved Vampire: the Masqeurade. This is a bit of a cross-over between the two worlds. **

**I think an Erik the vampire fic has a great potential to be corny. I am going to try very hard to prevent that from happening. Please tell me if it starts veering down that path. Also, I'm going to try to use any unfamiliar words in very descriptive sentences so that you can pick up on the lingo - but if you don't understand something I say feel free to ask.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

The laws that governed were delicate, fragile even. While the sect pretended to have the best interest of all at heart, in the root of it things were just the same as in any government. Flawed, selfish, sometimes ruthless. The rules must, under all circumstances, be obeyed. To do otherwise would reap punishment upon oneself.

Of course, that did not apply entirely if you were a _leader_. Then you could bend and twist the rules to accommodate your fancy, to make the most out of your position and gain all that you could from it. Alexander had learned this a long time ago. He had been prince of this wretched city for nearly twenty years now. A drop of water in the bucket of eternity, but with the city falling into the hands of the others and being reclaimed again as often as it were, it was really remarkable that one person had held onto power for such a period of time. Scrupulous and manipulating, he had a way of ruling people – even vicious killers like he dealt with daily.

It was this cunning that had originally led him to ignore the infamous _Phantom_.

Alexander enjoyed opera, the finer arts. Most within his bloodline did. The loss of life only heightened the appreciation for all that was beautiful, and so he was drawn to the opera house frequently. It was upon his second or third such visit that he felt something amiss. He was settled within his own private box, alone. Surrounded by normal people, of course – hundreds of them! Still, terribly alone.

The solitude had been pierced, however, and he could _feel_ someone near. Someone like him. A thorough search of the theater had produced no results, and so the newly instituted prince of Paris had left with a rather unnerved feeling.

He had, of course, returned. It had taken many visits before he successfully located the source, and when he did the man was lounging casually in a wingback chair in a small sitting room. Obviously he was expecting him.

"You enjoy my opera?" Alexander heard his voice before he seen his face, though he moved slowly about the back of the chair to survey this mystery man. He was tall, impeccably dressed, with expressive eyes. Alexander could not discern his facial features for he wore a mask that nearly covered his entire face. A bit of his chin did show, and it was angular and strong. All in all, Alexander was impressed with his appearance. It was his voice that was so magical, though. Low, sensuous. Magnetic.

"Very much," Alexander replied nonchalantly, remembering himself. The masked man lifted an elegant hand in a sweeping gesture, motioning toward the chair directly across from him. Alexander settled into it with ease, leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his knees – focused quite intently upon his counterpart.

"It has been a very long time since another of our kind has found the audacity to enter my dwelling. You must be the new..._prince_." Erik stated, disdain evident in his voice.

Alexander perked a brow, canting his head aside a bit. Who was this man that spoke with such authority?

"I am Alexander," he said.

A smirk tugged at Erik's lips, but Alexander could not tell. The mask was confining, a worthy shield. The only tool Alexander could use to gauge his mood was his eyes, and the aura that surrounded him. He could tell the masked man was amused.

"Yes," was all Erik said, offering no introduction on his part. Eventually his reputation would leak out through the mortals residing within his walls and even Alexander would learn of him. For now those things were not important. Setting the appropriate precedent was.

"I understand your rules, your given laws, your goals, your petty games. I know all about your _Camarilla_, and I do not care. I would never have sought you out. It is you who have perpetually entered my home, looking for me. I seek nothing from you. No protection, no amnesty. I do not want to be your enemy, either. Leave me be. Pretend I do not exist. I rarely venture far," Erik said lowly, lifting his hands to gesture about him.

"There is really no need. When I do, it is never to play the political games you fools busy yourselves with. You have nothing to fear from me, so long as you leave me be."

A threat was hidden within those words, and Alexander found himself both astonished and angered. It was easy enough to sense the power within the man opposite him, though Alexander could not determine whether he was indeed stronger than himself. Since there was question at all, he knew that today would not be the day to challenge this man. With something akin to an assent, Alexander had left the little meeting with nearly no more knowledge than he had entered with.

He had taken weeks to investigate this man. It did not take long to discover that he was the infamous _Phantom of the Opera_ and that he was something akin to a frightening night-time tale for children within the walls of the opera house. With the adults there, and on the streets as well, they whispered of his audacious murders and his quiet control over the managers. He could find little to nothing to indicate that he ever interacted with other kindred at all. There were no ties to the Sabbat, or any other group including his own precious Camarilla.

Still, Alexander felt as though his precarious power depended upon complete domination of the city. Several weeks after the meeting, he sent a group of his best men to teach the phantom a lesson in power. It was time he learned who really controlled the city now, despite whatever precious deals he may have made with the previous ruler.

It was a dismal failure. He had found a small box just within his haven the following night, containing the ashes of all of his men. A note accompanied it.

"_This is your last warning."_

Alexander made the decision that day to leave the Phantom of the Opera to his own mechanisms.

* * *

Erik was filthy by the time he neared his angel's room. His hair was mussed and unkempt, his mask was slightly askew and his clothes were all but tattered. He had spent many hours going through his tunnels and checking the traps. He closed several off and opened them to intersect with a new tunnel – effectively changing the entire layout of his labyrinth. If his home had been compromised, they would be at a loss to find it now.

He had realized too late the hour and did not have time to prepare for his angel as she deserved.

Those thoughts were pushed aside. He completely forgot himself or his state of dress when he came to her mirror and viewed her on the other side. She sat comfortably on the chaise lounge with her slender legs drawn up beneath her. She wore only her dressing gown, which had fallen aside to reveal the milky paleness of her legs. She clutched the leather-bound book he had given her for her birthday, doe-like eyes wide as she pored over the pages. He knew she had read it at least a dozen times already, but the fact that she loved it was plain.

As she read, a soft humming noise emitted from her throat. Those sweet lips that beckoned to him were slightly parted, allowing the song to issue forth. Dark curls were free, unruly, falling over the slope of her shoulder. She was a vision. Without realizing it he made a soft groaning noise at the sight of her, and she started.

Fear quickly filled those eyes and he could see her entire body tense.

"Hush, angel..." he called quietly, calming her with his voice. She immediately obeyed and the fear was replaced with a contented smile.

"You are late, angel.." she reprimanded him playfully, a glint in her eye.

Laughter ensconced her. She had never known angels could laugh. Until her angel taught her so.

"The affairs of heaven keep me busy, my angel. Watching over you is a big job."

Her eyes widened in disbelief. Oh precious, innocent Christine!

"There are some new rules, Christine, you must obey. Do you understand?" Erik asked, his voice tense.

"Yes, of course. What shall I do to please you angel?"

Her willingness to do anything for him gripped at his heart. If only she could love him so freely as a man and not as an angel.

"You will never leave the opera house without my express permission. Under no circumstances will you venture out after dark. You will follow your schedule strictly, so that I may always see that you are well. You will speak to no one new. You will make no new acquaintances. Will you obey, Christine? Can you be a good girl for your angel?"

His words had frightened her, for though she nodded and issued a soft "yes" she sat back within her chair and began to worry her tiny hands together. Erik could sense her fear and again longed to comfort her. But what could the devil offer such an angel?

"Christine," he called to her. "Please do not fear. I would give my very existence to protect you. Do you understand how much your angel cares for you?"

The frail girl under his power nodded again.

"Yes, angel.."

"Good. Then let us sing..."


	4. The Hidden Factor

Even his sleep was tormented. Usually he fell into a blissful catatonic state, wasting away the daylight hours in his grotto deep in the bowels of the earth. His rest was fitful now, however. The ever-present worry over her safety plagued his mind and it refused to quiet. When the possibilities had been exhausted, the solutions scrutinized, and he could dwell upon it no longer – he would shift his focus to the angel herself. Silken hair, milky-white flesh, full lips. Those thoughts were a more exquisite torture, but torture nonetheless. Erik simply could not rest.

This translated into moodiness, an edge in his personality that even his innocent protegee could detect. She questioned him on it, and even had the spirit to pout a bit when he shushed her concerns. Erik would have laughed at that spark within his normally compliant student, had the situation not been so dire. He had not been contacted again by the others, but when eternity was at your disposal, why rush? The lapse in their attentions could not be mistaken for acquiesance to _his_ will.

It was this epiphany that led the dark man into the night, clothed head to foot in his customary black. Only the bone white of his mask broke the strict code, and reflected the eerie moonlight as he strode without a sound toward the cemetery. He did not care to approach the prince in his own domain. To do so would be a supplication, and while he had no intention of letting Christine come to harm, he certainly would not submit. Instead he ventured toward the most neutral ground. Alexander would find him, of this he was certain. He could _feel_ him.

* * *

Another day was finished, and though her slender body ached from the extensive stretching and dancing forced upon her by the dance Mistress, Christine felt content. She had done relatively well. Certainly not an extraordinary talent like Sorelli, or even Meg, she blended into the ranks of the mediocre. Just talented enough to retain her position within the troupe, Christine was relieved to have passed a day without a single mistake.

Of course, there was her lesson to look forward to. At the end of each night she would be welcomed by that heavenly voice. The mere sound of his greeting caused her to tremble with pleasure, and the course of their work together left her breathless with delight. Christine adored her angel, more than he could ever know. It could not be righteous to adore an angel so much, she mused. She had scarcely made time for her prayers and had not attended mass in weeks, and yet she thought of her angel constantly. Occasionally she would become so caught up in her fantasies that she would completely miss a cue during her strenuous practices, earning the wrath of Mme. Giry. With blushing cheeks and a contrite apology, the embarrassed girl would scamper to catch up with the others and struggle not to think on him again.

Such a task was impossible, however. When something so magical consumed your life, how could you put it from your thoughts? The heavens could no sooner shirk the weight of it's stars.

He was wonderful. Demanding, strict, and yet comforting. The melody of his voice was majestic, enough to ease all of her worries. It made her long to be drawn into the heavenly realms with him – to leave behind the repetitive bore of her human life and rejoice in song with him!

Ah, but he insisted that she had a purpose. That she had to remain. He insisted that the gift of life was so terribly precious that she must not, for a single moment, feel less than utter thankfulness to possess it. Though Christine would never utter such blasphemy aloud, it was during that lesson that she began to doubt his honesty.

From the beginning she had thought it odd that an angel should take such an interest in her, giving her such love and adoration as she had only ever known from her father. Why, she had asked, did God think she was worthy to receive such a gift? There were millions of miserable people all over the world. She did not deserve him. He had flattered her humility, brushed her worries aside, and distracted her with song.

Human attributes began to present themselves, but every time she would begin to question him he would ultimately distract her. When entranced by his song Christine could do little more than revel in the pleasure it gave her. Hours later, though, when she struggled to sleep and thought only of him – she would recall the soft sound of his sigh, or the timbre of frustration in his voice. Once she was certain she had even heard a soft bump against the wall.

Perhaps her angel was not an angel at all, but a man. If so, what did this mean? Should she be terrified? Probably so. He must be mad to lurk about in the walls, and how would he accomplish such a feat anyway? Naivety and innocence led Christine to discount these fears, proclaiming to her own worried mind that nothing had changed even if her suspicions were true. He was still _her_ angel, her tutor, and quite frankly the most important person in her life. She would continue on in an act of ignorance, and perhaps someday she could convince him to reveal himself to her.

Such heavy thoughts weighed upon her mind, distracting her. She hummed a little ditty as she moved about, undressing and clothing herself in her night clothes in practiced routine. She sat at the vanity and began to run the brush through her hair, counting within her mind.

_One, two, three, four..._

A sound to her left caused her to gasp, her chin lifting abruptly in attempt to detect it's origin.

"Angel?" She called hesitantly. No response. After a moment of silence, she chided herself for being so silly and continued the mundane task.

_Five, six, seven..._

There, another sound. This time it was closer. The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a feeling of dread washed over Christine. Appearance be damned, she tossed the ornate brush onto the vanity carelessly in the same motion that brought her to her feet. Without as much as a glance behind her she darted for the door.

_Almost there. A few more paces._ The pounding of her heart was deafening, and if her assailant made any more noise she did not hear it. Just as her fingers curled about the precious freedom of the door-knob, cool hands encircled her shoulders. In impossible quickness she was pulled backwards, and felt a cold wall behind her. Pain ripped at her throat, and then all was black.

* * *

"Erik," the voice purred, coming from nowhere at all.

"Been doing your research, yes, my dear Prince?" Erik retorted, not bothering to shift in his position upon the bench. He was far more powerful than Alexander alone, and did not fear him. In truth, there were few of his kind alive that he did fear at all. It was the mass of them that was dangerous. While he could certainly defeat nearly anyone in a struggle, even one as strong as himself could only defeat so many at one time before he was overwhelmed. Thankfully Alexander seemed to be alone tonight, or at least Erik perceived him to be.

"Let us switch roles for but a moment. Imagine yourself in my shoes. You are the ruler of a very important city. The Camarilla depends on this city to hold the Sabbot thugs at bay. Their anarchy surrounds you, seeping into your domain from the filthy villages that surround it. Within your city resides one of the kindred who is as ancient as you have ever met. Powerful blood, oh so powerful..."

At this point Alexander manifest himself upon the bench beside of Erik. It gave Erik no start. Alexander was of a clan gifted with celerity, the ability to (when mastered) move so quickly that even his eye could not detect it. As though nothing were amiss, he continued.

"This kindred is a recluse. He hides from you and the entire world, despite your most noble attempts at befriending and accepting the... odd man."

Erik shifted, displaying an obviously disagreeable expression.

"If you have a point..."

"Of course," Alexander continued. "Now, if this were the situation – and you suddenly found yourself in need of a bit of assistance, what would you do?"

As the reason for his summons was announced, Erik stood from the granite bench and turned to face his counterpart.

"If I were you, dear Prince.." Erik hissed, disdain evident in every syllable. "I would call upon my foolish little underlings to be the fodder for whatever your foe, and leave those who do not wish to be disturbed alone."

Alexander laughed as though Erik had told quite the joke, and stood as well. He rubbed his hands together briskly as if to warm them, an ironic gesture.

"Of course you would, Phantom. At any rate, I am sure you tire of word games just as I do. You will help me, Erik."

A single eyebrow arched, but Alexander could not see it.

"Will I?" A direct reply, curt. A challenge.

"Oh come. We both know I am alone, and we also know that you probably have the ability to destroy me..." Alexander began.

Erik canted his head aside a bit, considering this. It was a plausible option. Destroy the antagonist at it's source. To do so would only reap more chaos, however, as the Camarilla lost control upon the city and the Sabbot idiots who circled like vultures attempted to overtake it. Many lives would be lost, both kindred and kine, and he would ultimately be drawn into the war. The Camarilla would call a blood hunt upon him for the destruction of their leader, and the anarchists would seek out his power. Ah, hell.

"There is something that only I know, however. A hidden factor if you will..." Alexander continued, drawing Erik back to present.

"And that is?" Erik demanded.

Alexander appeared amused, and with a bit too much pride stated.

"I think we should call this factor.. Christine."

Erik blanched at the way this monster stated her name, but controlled his response.

"You'll not harm her," Erik seethed.

"Oh, of course I will not. I _am_ with you in a den of death, am I not? I cannot, however, promise that those who are currently escorting her to a new holding area will be able to resist sampling such sweet blood..."


	5. Fear

Christine awoke with a raw feeling in her throat. As though she had not tasted water for days. She tried to move but could not. Whether she was restrained or her limbs were too heavy she could not tell, but the act of lifting her head was impossible. It took several moments for her to lift her lids, and the visions before her swam. She was in a bedroom of sorts. A fireplace, cold and empty. It's mantle, a cloth above it. Several candles were lit. The walls were dark.

It all swam together and she emitted a helpless groan, allowing her eyes to close again. Perhaps it was better to not see at all.

How had she come to be here? Where _was_ here? Why couldn't she move? Why did she ache?

She could remember nothing after returning to her room. When sleep had nearly reclaimed her she was shaken gently.

"Please, Miss.." a soft voice cooed, a warm hand slipping behind her neck to lift her head a bit. "Drink this. It will help you feel better."

Christine struggled to open her eyes again, managing only to glimpse the smile of a rather pretty girl. Darkness reigned again, and Christine slipped back into the precious oblivion – but not before the taste of an especially rich wine slid across her tongue and soothed the ache in her throat. Her last thought before sleep was of the delicious wine.

* * *

Time passed, though Christine could not tell how much. When she awoke again the young woman was there, with her kindly smile and a glass of water. Christine felt a bit disappointed that she could not have more of the wine, but it was an obscure thought and out of place in a time like this. Strong enough now to grasp the glass with trembling hand, Christine raised it to her lips and drained it completely.

"Thank you," she rasped.

The girl nodded, the smile ever-present.

"Of course, Christine. We want you to feel better."

The fact that the odd stranger knew her name was enough to jolt Christine back into reality. She clutched at the covers in fright, attempting to sit up. Strength enough to do this eluded her, however, and she merely trembled instead.

"Wh-.. where am I?" She demanded finally.

"Shh, do not be afraid. You are in my Master's home. He says that we are to take good care of you. You nearly caught your death out there, didn't you?" The girl remarked, with a bit of mirth in her gaze.

Christine's head was spinning. Nothing she was being told made any sense, and in her weakened state she opted to sleep rather than struggle through the answers. When she awoke again, the chalice containing the wine was again at her lips. The taste was a bit more peculiar this time, but delicious nonetheless. Christine consumed it quickly, and felt her stomach rumble.

"Could I.. please have some food?" The obedient child that her angel adored surfaced, big eyes wide in a pleading gesture. The girl nodded and hurried away. Christine felt nearly well by the time she returned, and was sitting up in the bed.

"What is your name?" Christine asked softly, as the brunette placed a platter before her. All sorts of fruits and cheeses were arranged upon it, as well as a steaming bowl of soup.

"Aemilia," the girl responded, even as she retreated toward the door. Christine called out to her, but Aemilia disappeared the same way she had come. Famished, Christine focused her attention instead upon the meal. It was devoured quickly, and Christine finally found the strength to stand. What had happened after she had come into her room? As a girl she was prone to sleep-walking. Had she fallen asleep and wandered into the streets? Perhaps she had caught a cold and some benevolent Parisian was offering his generosity in nursing her back to health. Was she _still _sleeping, and this was just a bizarre dream she would relay later to her inquisitive angel?

Her angel! A wave of panic washed over Christine, the realization that she had missed her lesson coiling within her in the heavy weight of dread. After a moment the sensation passed, as she realized she could hardly help the circumstances. She could not even recall how it is she came to be here, or where _here_ even was. Her angel would understand.

A sneaking voice in the back of her mind whispered, reminding Christine of her suspicions. If he were truly an angel, would he not find his way to her after all?

* * *

Alexander's statement had been the catalyst he had expected and hoped for. Erik had been stunned, and then so angered that it would take several long moments for logic to prevail. In the mean-time he made his hasty departure, knowing that he could never escape Erik without a few minutes to his advantage. If he could only reach his manor in enough time...

Erik had been blinded by fury, and propelled himself in silence after the fool who would dare harm what was his. When this was all over, the blood of the prince would be _his!_

* * *

Christine paced about in her gilded cage. She had soon found the door locked from the outside, and no amount of beating or yelling could call the pretty young girl back to her. She had attempted such until her strength was drained, and then curled within a large chair to rest. Unwittingly, she had fallen asleep. The creaking of the door hinges stirred her from her nap, and she found the earnest face of Aemilia staring down at her.

"Where am I?" Christine demanded, sliding off of her chair onto trembling legs. She reached for the high wing-back to steady herself.

"Why am I here? Why am I being kept a prisoner? I demand to leave at once!" Anger coursed through every word, yet even in her tantrum Christine's voice was barely above a whisper.

Aemilia just smiled. A condescending, pitying smile that made Christine uncomfortable. Finally the other girl responded.

"You should probably bathe, Christine. The Master will arrive soon, and you do not want to look so disheveled when you first meet him, do you?"

The way Aemilia spoke with such calm irritated Christine. It was as though the girl either refused or was incapable of being swayed with any other emotion.

"No!" Christine screamed shrilly, shocking herself. The pads of her fingers darted to her lips quickly, and she dropped her gaze. In a softer tone, she said again.

"No, Aemilia. I will not, until you tell me why I am here. How did I come to be here? Who is this 'Master'? Can I please go home?'

Aemilia seemed non-plussed by the scream, but then moved off from Christine to a doorway Christine had not noticed. It led to a lavish bath, in which Aemilia began to prepare water.

Hesitant again, Christine approached the doorway.

"Please, Aemilia.." she whispered, hoping to appeal to the woman in a different way.

"I am frightened."

At last the girl seemed moved, and after she had sprinkled bath salts within the steaming tub and provided a robe for Christine to don after she was finished, she turned toward the brunette with sympathy in her gaze.

"Please listen to me now, Christine, because I will never again speak to you in such a manner. There is much you do not understand, and it will take you a very long time before you do. Do not try to figure all of it out. Instead, do what is necessary to keep yourself safe. I am permitted to be your guardian for a time. It is much better that it is I, than any other. If you become violent or continue to yell in such a manner as before – I cannot promise that my position will be retained. It is also wise that you do as I tell you."

Here the girl paused, stepping closer to Christine. She lifted her small hands to rest upon her shoulders, squeezing in a gesture that was supposed to provide some comfort.

"I know that you are frightened, but you must do as I say, Christine. Bathe, and I will leave a change of clothes for you upon the bed. Prepare yourself to meet the Master, and I will fetch you soon."

Christine, with lower lip trembling and glassy eyes, simply nodded and then Aemilia disappeared again with a distinct _click_ of the lock upon the door. Christine had never had a strong disposition, and now she longed to curl up on the bed and simply weep herself into oblivion – as she had when her father had first died. Until her angel came along and helped her through.

"Oh, Angel.." she mourned aloud, even as she began to discard the clothes she only now noticed were stained with blood. "Please save me now.."

* * *

In a more inviting part of the city two brothers, completely oblivious to the world of darkness all around them, prepared in jest for their next big adventure.

"Patrons of an opera house, really Philippe!" Raoul de Chagny laughed, twirling his cognac about in it's glass. He had probably had one too many, but the flavor was exquisite and they had acquired the vintage on a recent trip to the city itself. Why should he let it go to waste?

"Mother is pleased with the idea, Raoul.." said his brother, slightly less intoxicated than his younger sibling. "Father would have been proud as well."

"Mmm," was all that Raoul said – focused instead upon the hypnotic swirl of the amber liquid.

"Besides," Philippe added. "Were you not always fascinated with fairy tales and the like? Consider this a story played out in most spectacular form, and as Patrons, dear brother, it will all be for you."

"What is your implication, Philippe? When have I ever preferred such stories?" Raoul had shifted upon the lounge, tugging at his cravat uncomfortably. The heat from the fire was rather stifling, or the alcohol had warmed him thoroughly. Either way, it was terribly hot.

Philippe chuckled lightly. "You've forgotten those summers in Perros, little brother? You spent the entire time chasing after the adorable little girl with all of the curls. And her father, what was his name?" A lengthy silence, and then.. "Ah, yes. Daee. The violinist, he would play. You would run home each day with a new tale. Fascinated, you were!"

"Mmm.." was the reply again, and for a moment Philippe thought his brother had slipped off to sleep. In a moment of startling clarity, however, his companion spoke again.

"Christine. She was so lovely. Little Lotte... those stories.. yes, so pleasant..."

As Raoul rambled on, Philippe lifted his cloak and hat from his desk and strode toward the door.

"Rest, little brother. We will see to our new charge later."

Raoul did not hear this, or his brothers parting words. The alcohol's numbing effect had already drawn him into a blissful sleep.


	6. Charisma

**I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

By the time Christine had bathed and dressed, the fear had subsided a bit and was replaced with an all-encompassing numbness. She thought she should feel wary, or frightened, or any of those things but she did not. It was as though something within soothed her, and though it did not create a warm or pleasant sensation of peace it took away the utter horror that she had felt and left her feeling rather empty instead.

All of the necessities a girl could need were found within the room, and Christine had soon dressed and drawn her hair up away from her face. She paced, counting twelve steps from the bed to the bath, and another ten to the doorway.

Finally Aemilia appeared again, and that false smile was pasted on. Christine could sense a bit of nervousness from her counterpart, however, and chose not to comment on it. The entire situation was surreal, awakward. Christine found it difficult to believe she was awake at all.

"It is time," Aemilia said softly. Christine did not struggle or argue. Instead she followed behind the other girl obediently. As she stepped into the hall her breath caught within her throat. The place was simply magnificent. It was enormous, with long halls filled with every sort of art. Paintings, statuettes, murals. It was as though the entire place had been designed as a museum to be inhabited.

"The Master has done quite a bit of the work himself," Aemilia stated, with no small amount of pride in her voice.

"Lovely," Christine breathed, tracing her fingers over a particularly baroque sculpture.

Aemilia led her effortlessly the length of a hall, down a series of steps, and into a rather large sitting room. The furniture was dark, plush, and finely upholstered.

"Please, sit."

Christine obeyed. Aemilia disappeared, and she was left to fidget alone for some time. When the door finally opened again, she cast a glance over the slope of her shoulder toward it – expecting Aemilia.

She could not have been more mistaken. Instead a man strode in, seeming to be a bit in a rush, but graceful nonetheless. He shrugged a jacket from his shoulders, loosened his cravat and tossed the lot upon an errant sofa. Once the top button was undone upon his shirt, he turned to look at Christine.

Everything seemed to freeze for a moment. Christine was sure she had never met a more attractive man in her life. It wasn't as much that he was physically _perfect_. In fact, he had a small scar just above his left brow and his nose looked as though it had been broken in more than one scrap. His cheeks were darkened by a shadow of hair that needed to be shaven, and his top lip was a bit thin. Nonetheless, he had a full head of raven hair and tanned skin. He was tall and well-muscled. Every gesture was fluid, agile. It was almost a feline grace that he exhibited, and his entire aura reeked of charisma. Without opening a word he had captivated Christine. For a moment at least.

He smiled, a dazzling feat that was no less stunning to the poor girl who had stood in his presence without realizing it.

"You must be Christine," he stated softly, and she found his voice just as pleasing.

Christine smiled awkwardly, unsure of how to speak to such a man and why he would have any interest in her at all.

"Of course you are," he answered for her. He shifted a few items about on his desk as though looking for something, and then checked his timepiece.

"I am Alexander, Mademoiselle. I am sure you are feeling rather confused and quite frightened. I am sorry if anyone has acted in a way to alarm you, but I want to assure you that you are in fact a favored guest of mine. You cannot understand all of this now, but I am trying to protect you from someone who wants to harm you. You can trust me, Christine. Do you understand? _Trust me._"

The last words were spoken in a manner that seemed to pierce her very thoughts and it made Christine shudder. Suddenly her thought process felt very sluggish, and she heard her own voice echoing an agreement before she realized it.

"I trust you."

The handsome man smiled again, and beckoned her closer with a gesture. She placed her hand in his. It was cool and smooth.

"Good. Now, has Aemilia given you some of my fine wine to help with your recovery?" Alexander queried as he led her toward the fire. He was running out of time, but even so the situation had to be handled perfectly or it would have all been in vain.

A slight nod was the only response Christine offered, though her eyes widened a bit at mention of the wine and he could see the eagerness written within her gaze.

"Ah, yes. Well, what if I promised you an entire bottle Christine. All to yourself! Would you see then that I care about your well-being. That I want to care for you?" He turned her to face him now, as they stood close to the warm flames. He could see how easily Erik had been ensnared. She was stunning. Beautiful features with an air of complete innocence about her. Sweetness personified.

"Oh, yes.." she murmured in agreement.

The Prince smiled.

"Then close your eyes, Christine. If you trust me, do as I say."

Without a thought, the helpless child obeyed.

* * *

Erik had nearly overcome Alexander on more than one occasion, and then the presence of other kindred would cause him to lose track of his exact trajectories. In the end he had lost more than fifteen minutes before again finding the trail the Prince had left. He had followed the beastly man back to an estate that appeared, from the outside, to be a rather normal (if not extravagant) estate. It was a modern building, obviously somewhat new – and in other circumstances Erik may have admired the architecture.

For now though, he could sense his beloved within. The beating of her heart called out to him like a beacon and he forced himself to stop instead of rushing in headlong. He spent several moments surveying the grounds, trying to detect the amount of protection the Prince had enlisted about his domain. It was great. Erik was far outnumbered and knew that stealth or brute strength would do nothing for Christine now. He would have to acquiesce and play the game.

In this game, though, losing was not an option.

Much to his chagrin, Erik simply marched up to the front doors expecting to be accosted. The kindred he encountered only sneered at him, and then gestured him further inward. Feeling as though he was walking into the most elaborately laid trap, Erik continued. Still no one seemed alarmed or even surprised at his presence. Disgruntled perhaps, but not put off. They gestured which direction he should take without words, and agreeably he could feel Christine nearer to him with each turn.

Finally he reached a large set of doors. They were closed and standing before them was a young girl dressed in a lovely gown. She smiled at him, though the expression never reached her eyes, and immediately lifted a dainty hand to brush her locks over her shoulder, effectively displaying her throat for him. Erik scowled at her in distrust.

"What is the meaning of this? Be gone!"

The girl seemed downcast, but simply stepped aside to permit him entrance to the sitting room. He reached for the door and tugged it open. Within was his precious, darling Christine and the Prince of Paris. Neither seemed to notice his entry, and when the scene before him revealed itself Erik released a howl of fury.


	7. Yes, my Prince

**I hope you are still enjoying this story. It is the least popular out of everything I've ever written (in regards to hits and reviews and such) but I am continuing it for several reasons. First, I do not write for other people. I do happen to love reviews (hah) but it's a creative release for me, even if I never shared. Secondly, I love it. It's a combination of two of my favorite things to write about.**

**I'm going to include a few notes about some of the vampiric things in this chapter, since my world of vampires is quite different from Dracula and even Anne Rice. If you're not interested, skip the next chapter. I think the story will flow just fine without it. Also, a warning. This is the most "vampirey" chapter yet. It's not very subtle or disguised here. If blood offends you, turn back now :)**

**_The world of vampires consists of two facets. The Camarilla (think: good guys) and Sabbat (bad guys). These are not all encompassing. For example, you could have a member of the Camarilla who is a total &&. While it doesn't seem likely to have a pretty good guy in the Sabbat, I guess it could happen. This is primarily in regards to the way they regard kine (mortals, nonvampires). Camarilla live by a strict oath called the Masquerade. They believe that the existence of kindred should be kept secret and therefore all of their actions are judged by Masquerade. They can't display their powers, etc. Sabbat are the opposite, they are anarchists. They are, primarily, a bit younger than the Camarilla as a whole and they think that since kindred are stronger than kine they should dominate. They flaunt their powers openly, kill ruthlessly, and want the Camarilla to fall. Somewhere in the middle of all this are several clans who are neither._**

**_Kindred are sired into a certain 'clan'. Each clan has it's own quirks and powers. A couple of examples are Toreador - they are artistic, classy sort of people. They are especially good with the 'Dominate' discipline. Tremere are kind of sciency types, think alchemists (but not). Malkavians are insane, really. The list goes on and on. You don't need to know much of this yet._**

**_On to ghouls. Ghouls are humans who are fed the blood of a vampire without first being drained of their own. This does not turn them into a vampire, but a ghoul. They are still alive. Their heart beats, they breathe and eat and all of that. But they will live forever, as long as they are sustained continually by the blood of their Master. You need to understand that to a human ghoul the blood of a vampire is more addictive than the most addictive drug we know of. They crave it constantly, try to think of ways to get it, and would do anything to please the one that gives it to them. That should help you understand Christine's lack of inhibition a little._**

**_Finally, blood bond. If a ghoul feeds exclusively from the same vampire three times in a row, she is 'blood bound' to him. This means that he is, without doubt, her Master. She would do anything he commands without thought, and would protect him with her very life. Her devotion to him can be mistaken for love and affection, especially by her. We call her the "thrall" and he the "Regent"._**

**_Last thought. Don't believe everything Alexander says in reference to the bond. Remember that he is manipulating Erik._**

* * *

Her lids felt heavy. It was not difficult to obey Alexander, though the situation warranted more than a little caution and distrust. Something about his presence made Christine feel at ease and safe, and she was compelled to do whatever he might say if only to please him. As lush lashes fanned against her cheeks, she opened her lips to sigh softly.

Alexander hesitated only a moment as he gazed down at her. So very pretty, he mused to himself. It would be such a pity if she were to get hurt in this great intrigue. Those thoughts were pushed aside quickly, however, as he felt the presence of an outsider within his halls. Undoubtedly it was Erik. He lifted a hand to roll the cuff of his sleeve upwards until a bronzed forearm was exposed, and then brought his own wrist to his lips. He tore at the flesh there, and as rivulets of dark red fluid began to flow he lifted his arm so that those precious droplets would fall onto her lips.

Christine felt the droplets fall upon her lips and confusion furrowed her brow. She thought to open her eyes in concern, but found that task too difficult. Before she could worry further, however, the tip of her tongue darted out in natural reaction to clear the droplets away. The flavor that greeted her was enough to drive all other thought from her mind. It was liquid ecstasy, an indescribable flavor and taste that made her feel weak with pleasure. She licked feverishly at her lips and when she found that all trace of the precious nectar had been removed, her chin lifted upwards – hungry lips seeking the pleasure at it's source. She had just found that source, sweet lips latched on to Alexander's wrist without thought or worry, when an inhuman howl filled the room. She was finally able to open her eyes, staring upwards at Alexander as she lifted her small hands to curl about his forearm. He smiled at her, seeming as pleased as she, and nodded a bit in encouragement.

Christine ignored the interruption, her human mind unable to focus on anything save the drug that now filled her. Alexander, however, turned away as Christine cast herself with much relish into feeding from his wrist. He lifted his gaze, hooded with the pleasure of bloodsharing, to Erik. Then, he smiled. An arrogant, triumphant smile.

Erik was frozen. The fury and horror that raged within him made it difficult to think or to move. His precious, beloved Christine was devouring the vitae of the Prince. He could hear the erratic beating of her heart, his blood like the sweetest drug to her mortal system. She trembled with pleasure, and even released soft mews and whimpers. Alexander regarded her with a familiarity that he had never been able to have, lifting his free hand to touch that mass of dark curls. As the Prince turned to smile at him, though, the spell was broken and Erik released a feral growl. Within a breath he was across the room, his fingers curled possessively about Christine's shoulders.

In the breath before he jerked her away, Alexander spoke and stilled him.

"Think, Erik. She is bound to me now. Tread carefully, lest you shatter her fragile mind.."

Erik cursed, his fingers digging into Christine's shoulders tightly. Alexander ignored his presence again, gazing down at Christine. He traced a single finger along the line of her jaw, until Erik grasped his wrist in bone-crushing strength. The Prince glared a warning at the infamous Phantom, who reluctantly released his grasp. Alexander began to disengage himself from Christine, pulling his wrist away from her frenzied lips.

"Please," she cried, unwilling to release her grasp upon his arm.

"Shh, shh.." Alexander calmed her, forcing himself free of her. A simple lick to his own wound and it healed perfectly. Christine stared up at him with bloody lips pursed in a childish pout. She still quaked as the power of his blood, completely undiluted this time, coursed through her.

"You must listen to me now, Christine. I will take care of you, and protect you..."

"Stop this!" Erik cried, pulling Christine against his chest and away from the Prince. Christine only now seemed to become aware of his presence, and she cried out in surprise. She looked up to him, finding unfamiliar features and a frightening mask. The euphoria of the moment was pierced, and fear found it's way again into her heart. With terror written on her face, she attempted to wrench away and looked toward Alexander imploringly. He simply opened his arms, and as Erik released her in surprise she hurried into his embrace. She buried her face in his chest, and began to weep as she clung to him.

"Tsk, tsk..." Alexander mocked Erik, shaking his head as he stroked those luscious curls. Erik had dreamed for years of doing just that and would never permit himself the luxury, longing to spare her from the horrors of his world. It had all been for naught, and now she was merely a puppet to his newly discovered enemy.

"Alexander, I swear that if you do not..."

"Erik," Alexander interrupted. "Christine is frightened. Please, let me calm her." Every word was filled with taunting and sarcasm, and Erik trembled with rage. He could see the terror in his beloveds eyes, even as she peeked in his direction from the asylum of Alexander's arms. He did the only thing he could in the given situation – he turned away. He stared into the flames, trying with all of his might to block out the words Alexander spoke into Christine's fragrant hair in pleasing tones.

"I will protect you, Christine. You must only obey me. Do you understand?" He asked in patient tones, sounding very much like a parent speaking with a young child.

Christine nodded only a little, and her voice sounded a bit hoarse as she spoke.

"I want some more..."

Those words were like a stake into Erik's heart, and he visibly grimaced. He gripped at the mantle furiously, his fingers leaving indentations in the wood.

"Yes, sweet child. I know that you do. But you must learn moderation, or I will quickly become exhausted. Do you remember the special wine I promised you? I will have an entire bottle sent to your chambers. You are to stay there until _I_ instruct you otherwise. You will leave with no other, and speak with no other save Aemilia. Do you understand?"

Alexander purred the words in sweet tones, even as he toyed with a curl that rest along her cheek. Christine found herself completely enamored as she gazed up at him. If she had thought him handsome before, then he was certainly a god now and she knew that she would do _anything_ to please him. Anything for another taste.

"Yes, my Prince.." she replied in breathy response. The mantle snapped beneath Erik's grasp, but she did not notice. Neither did she question how she knew to address him as such. The words had been supplied in her mind and she accepted them with no question. It seemed to fit him beautifully, and she smiled through the intoxication of his powerful blood.

"Good girl," he rewarded her, and she felt pleased that he was happy with her.

"To your chambers now, I have business to conduct."

Christine felt a pang of disappointment at the separation, but she stepped away in obedience. Only then did she recall the other man in the room, and cast a glance in his direction. He looked up and met her gaze, and fury was written upon his hard features. The mask concealed much of him, and she felt a shudder pass through her. As he met her gaze, his eyes softened and she almost thought he felt sorry for her. Without a clear mind she could not focus upon such a thing, however. He spoke.

"_Christine..."_

The single word was heavy with sorrow and a quiet plea. For what? Recognition? The voice did seem somehow familiar, it's dark undercurrents not unusual to her.

"Go," Alexander urged, and any speculation she had spent upon Erik was cast aside with ease. She smiled over her shoulder toward the Prince, and then floated from the room in a pleasurable haze.

* * *

As soon as the heavy library door slid closed, Alexander found himself thrust against the wall with Erik at his throat. He was snarling, vicious, and furious.

Though it was difficult to speak with his throat compressed, Alexander hissed in response.

"I think you know the futility of this, Erik. There are more kindred around us than you can defeat alone. I can beckon them with a single thought...How will you ever save her if you are in torpor?"

Erik only growled and slammed Alexander into the wall several more times, then tossed him brutally to the ground.

Alexander only stood, having expected such aggression. He straightened his clothes, and spoke seriously to Erik.

"You know that the blood bond can be reversed, do you not?"

Erik was pacing like a feral animal in front of the massive desk.

"That is not a discipline that I possess!" He growled in response.

"Perhaps now you see the strength in numbers, Erik. There are more than enough capable Tremere under my rule to complete such a simple task. You are Toreador. It would be no difficult thing at all to remove all of this from her memory. Return to your hole in the ground, serenading her through walls if you wish. Though really, I think that is such a waste..."

Erik moved toward him with a snarl again, and Alexander laughed lightly.

"Please, Erik. Calm yourself. You can do what you wish with your kine. Now, though, she belongs to me. I think an attitude of cooperation would suit you much better in the given circumstances."

Erik forced himself to still. Though he could do nothing to assuage the unrelenting fury he felt, he knew that Alexander had the upper hand. For now at least.

"What do you want from me?" He hissed.

Alexander smiled, as he moved about the desk to settle into his overstuffed leather chair.

"I thought you might see it my way."


	8. Revelation

Christine had spent the better part of an hour in front of her window, pacing restlessly. The first half of that time had been spent imagining what she could say or do to find herself in Alexander's presence and favor once more. The power of his blood thrummed within her veins, making all other reasonable thought difficult at best. She was the worst of addicts, compelled beyond human comprehension.

After some time, the effect began to wane as her body metabolized the blood. She began to think more like herself again and the raw pleasure was replaced at first with a dull sense of shock, and finally with raw fear. What was going on? Was this a terrible, horrible dream? Was God punishing her in some way? Would she wake up? _Could_ she? Her small fingers twisted in the fabric of her heavy skirt as she paced, murmuring aloud to comfort herself. When that failed, she began to sing. Softly, the sweet and gentle songs her angel would sing to her when she was upset as a child. That soothed her spirit only slightly, as it directed her thoughts along another uncomfortable path.

The issue of her angels mortality. It had been a fleeting wonder for some time now, and faced with the disaster she was now engrossed in she came face to face with deciding where her faith resided. If he was, in fact, a heavenly being then he would no doubt know of her location and circumstances. For that matter, he may very well come to her aid or entreat the Father on her behalf. If he was nothing more than a man, then he could not know of the reasoning behind her absence. He would probably be livid.

This thinking was more than Christine would usually subject herself to. She had learned long ago to use _his_ voice as a numbing agent. When painful or difficult thoughts would enter her mind she would succumb to the power of his song and refuse to face or deal with those issues. Now, however, in his absence she had little to shield herself with. She was forced to grapple with these issues on top of the already horrendous events.

Or perhaps that was just it. Perhaps trying to decide if her angel was heavenly or not was easier than dealing with the fact that she had just tasted blood. More than that, _drank it._ What's worse - she knew that if she were offered the opportunity again in that very moment she would gleefully accept. What did that make her?

With a strangled sound of frustration, Christine returned to her previous line of thought. This would, perhaps, solve the mystery after all. She would pray to her angel. If he was celestial he would answer her. If he was a man, she would be left to face her current dilemma alone. Either way, she would know soon enough.

The young woman knelt in a pool of fabric by her bed and crossed herself, folding slender fingers in reverence.

"Angel, I did not disobey you. I did not leave the Opera House. I did just as you commanded me and still evil has befallen me. Please help me. Please do not be angry with me. Please, please find me. Comfort me. I.. need you.."

************

"Tzimisce.." Alexander repeated, not missing the way a ripple of fury seemed to run the length of Erik's spine.

"They are.. difficult.. at best, to dispose of. They have been lingering on the outskirts of the city for several decades, and only now do they encroach." Alexander walked about to take a seat in his chair, tapping his fingertips together as he continued. Erik simply paced.

"I am sure I do not have to explain to you what they're capable of. This band seem to be particularly.. outlandish in their entertainments. They're leaving ridiculously malformed humans alive, sending them back into their homes with four arms or one leg. Even children.." the Prince's smooth voice stated without emotion.

Erik held up his hand, stopping further detail. He did not need to hear what the Tzimisce were capable of. A great many years of his life had been spent in their company, and he had nothing but horror, pain, and scars to show for it. He hated them more than any other creatures on the planet.

"The kine are beginning to talk, Erik. With the mess the Sabbat makes every night, we can hardly keep up. It's difficult to keep order. Our existence here is precarious at best. Should they continue to blatantly abuse the population, I'm afraid darker days are ahead of our kind."

Alexander had a way of speaking about him that was both terribly non-chalant, as if these matters could never actually reach _him_, and that portrayed an imminent sense of importance. Even Erik felt himself being swayed by the presence of the Prince, the charisma he exuded.

"Stop it," he hissed between clenched teeth. The Prince smirked, and leaned forward slightly.

"I need your special expertise, Erik. Within my entire realm you, and you alone, would know their strengths. Their weakness. The best way to eliminate this .. unneccessary disturbance."

Silence fell, thick and heavy. Neither moved. They did not need to. Subtle twitches or shifting were gone with the breath of life. Both mulled over the situation, and eventually Alexander prodded Erik with a thought. Using the talents of his mind. Alexander planted the vision of Christine feeding from the Prince's wrist in the mind of the Phantom. Pure rapture was written across her delicate features, her rosebud lips wrapped around the pale flesh like a vice.

A hiss ended the stalemate, and Erik pulled himself away from the thought - effectively shutting Alexander out of his mind. Alexander raised his brows in surprise. Few were strong enough to resist his powers.

"Impressive," he murmured in genuine respect.

Erik was too angry to hear of it.

"Whatever you want, Alexander. But I will have Christine." He demanded.

"Ahh.. I think it would be best if you deliver your portion first, my dear Phantom of the Opera. Lest you sweep your little songbird away and leave us to fight this losing battle alone." Alexander was standing by now, glancing out the window into the courtyard below with his arms crossed behind his back.

Erik was at his side in a second. Below were endless varieties of rose bushes. They were all lovely, every shade imaginable. Christine would love them.

"I will not have her exposed to our wicked existence. She is not safe here. Should they choose to attack, you would be their primary target. I **will not** have her compromised. I will take her to safety and then return to handle this situation." Erik spoke without compromise, and the Prince of Paris turned to study him. They locked gazes and after a long moment Alexander consented. He could see the truth of Erik's intent within his gaze. He would not leave. And if he attempted to do so, they would simply take the girl again. Erik was one of, if not _the_, strongest vampires in the country. But Christine was only human, and oh so fragile.

Alexander nodded once, and Erik was gone.

* * * * * *

Erik followed the lightly floral, sweet scent of Christine to her room. He arrived at the door just in time to hear her heartfelt and pitiful prayer. It made his cold, dead heart ache to realize the pain he had inflicted on her. And it could only get worse.

The door did not creak was he pushed it open, and the floors did not alert her to his presence. He moved so quietly that she did not even notice his presence. He was nearly within arms reach before he replied. He used his most soothing, melodious voice. The same tone that had sang many lullabies to the frightened child he had first come to love.

"Oh, child. Do you not see? I could never be angry with you. Not truly."

Despite his best intent to be gentle, he frightened Christine terribly. She sprang to her feet too quickly. Her feet tangled in the layers of her skirt and she fell forward awkwardly. Cold hands grasped her inches before her head contacted the solid wood frame of the bed. She gasped at the contact and reeled away from him again. She backed away until the bed was positioned between them.

"Who..?" The poor girl was so dumbfounded she could hardly speak. She heard the voice of her angel coming from this.. _Man?_ But he was not at all what she had imagined. Even when she had, in her most secret fantasies, thought him to be a man - he was not dark and scowling and hiding behind a mask! He had been an angel of flesh and light. Blonde and golden with beautiful blue eyes and a winning smile. School-girl fantasies gone awry, apparently. Panic began to build within could see a panic attack building. He could hear the terrible flutter of her heart within her chest, matched with her shallow breathing. She had not had such an attack since she was eleven. Another dagger to his heart.

"Christine, Christine..." he cooed, and she stared at him incredulously. Suddenly, tears began to pool in her eyes. The realization was at hand.

"Angel?" she gasped through her tears, shocked, horrified and dismayed. She stepped backwards, distancing herself further from him.

Erik weighed his options. He could assert his presence and charisma over her and have her in the palm of his hand, just as Alexander had done. Alternately, he could wipe from her feeble mind all memory of the prior day and simply return her to her rightful place. Or, he could do neither. He could allow Christine to face this alone. To respond freely, as she might otherwise without his intervention. To see the mettle that his little dove was made of. In a decision that somewhat surprised even himself, Erik chose the latter.

"Shall I sing for you?" he murmured somewhat arrogantly, taking on the role of her winged protector once more. The persona he had most commonly donned as her angel. A casual air of domination.

The skittish woman-child shook her head fervently to the negative.

"Shall I tell you one of your tales then, child? One of your dark stories of the north? Of all the fabled beasts and creatures you so loved?" Now he had strolled across to the chaise and adopted a very casual pose there.

Again all he received was a negative, those precious curls bouncing and touseling along her shoulders. How he longed to feel that silk within his cold, dead hands. To touch his cheek to the top of her head and feel the warmth of life that exuded from her. And oh, what exquisite bliss it would be to kiss those lips. He would have to be careful, of course, it'd be painfully easy to crush her. But to feel....

Erik forced himself back to present, but not before Christine felt the powerful longing in his gaze and shrank even further away. He sighed and dropped all pretenses, leaning forward to rest his elbows upon his knees in what he hoped was an unassuming posture.

"I dearly regret that our introduction has come in such a manner, Christine. I had quite an elaborate plan that involved Christmas gifts, dinner, and music. Oh yes, always music..."

The more his voice washed over her, the more the distrust attempted to ebb. She tried ferociously to cling to it like a protective cover, but he was just too familiar. The tall, gaunt body and angular face were not. The mask, especially, was not - but when he spoke it was as if music kissed her soul in every word. It was the voice of her angel, and she struggled to resist that.

Erik could see her features soften slightly as he spoke, and so he continued.

"I also apologize that you were brought into this. I thought to protect you from it all, but I underestimated what was at stake here. I didn't think they realized how important you are to me..." His voice was wistful, gentle, perhaps even loving. Christine was subdued enough to respond in skittish form.

"You are the angel." She stated as if saying it aloud was the only thing that could make it real. She shuddered after the statement.

"Yes," he replied gently, his melodic tone weaving about her in an attempt to calm and soothe. The admission seemed anti-climatic for Christine, who had somehow expected him to deny it. To convince her otherwise. To piece her shattered world back together somehow.

That did not happen. So she uttered the only coherent thought that came to mind.

_"Why?"_


End file.
